


The Doctor And The Governess

by casstayinmyass



Category: Murder on the Orient Express (2017), Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Daisy Ridley - Freeform, Declarations Of Love, Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, F/M, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Leslie Odom Jr - Freeform, Poirot Is Suspicious, Public Display of Affection, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casstayinmyass/pseuds/casstayinmyass
Summary: Mary and John wait to board the train. John knows Mary can't stand public affection, so he settles for whispered intentions instead.





	The Doctor And The Governess

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of the original book by Agatha Christie, and I'm super excited for the new movie in November. I've decided to write this in the new film's universe, hence the "doctor" instead of "colonel." So, this is the Leslie/Daisy version of these two! :)

 

* * *

 

Dr. Arbuthnot was a man of little words, little expression, and little action. It was not that he was at all unmotivated; no, that would be an entirely inaccurate trait to apply to the good English doctor. Thus, as all Englishmen and Englishwomen were suggested to be, he was bold in his professions, reserved in his affections.

Of course, one was entitled to a few exceptions; in Arbuthnot's case, one woman.

Beside the doctor stood Mary Debenham, far off in thought as she stared up at the window of the train, then out to the hills. The glinting sparkle of the snow made for an icy reflection in her decidedly distant eyes, not far off from her disposition. A small smile began at Arbuthnot's full lips. That's what he loved so much about her- he found the process she took to warm up to someone rather charming. And yet, even when she did finally find herself comfortable around anyone to be open with them, she preferred to keep her facade for the public.

"Mary," John said quietly, still smiling. Mary turned, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Mmm. I was just... thinking," she told him, as if his eyes were imploring an explanation. John just nodded.

"I know. I'm worried about the timing as well."

"Most inopportune," Mary sighed, turning so John had a good view of her attractive profile, "I just want this over and done with, this whole nasty affair." He inhaled through his nose. The love he harboured for this woman...

"You know what I want?" John whispered, grazing her hand with his own. She recoiled only slightly, before looking down and swallowing.

"There's no doubt in my mind what you want," she replied, voice a ghost of a breath. The reply itself was not without some trace of warmth.

"Then..." John's smile widened just a little, "You know how much I want to slide those stockings down and..."

"Doctor-" she gasped, glancing at him warningly. He backed off a little, but kept stroking her hand.

"Once we're alone in the cabin?"

"Whose cabin?" Mary breathed, staring straight ahead of her, lips parted.

"Mine, perhaps." He patted his tweed pockets thoughtfully at the idea. "Wouldn't look too good for a respectable man like myself to enter a respectable woman like yourself's compartment. Especially two _complete strangers_." He smirked, and Mary returned the cryptic smile.

"Neither option is respectable in any way," she replied coolly, though not without a lilt of amusement in her tone. "Although yes, your deduced option would, I think, present itself best from the standpoint of any unintended onlookers."

"Of course, we could always wait until everyone's nice and tucked in..." John went on, shrugging in a teasing sort of way, "Then you could hurry over to my cabin, crawl under my sheets, and let me touch you how I've wanted to touch you since Instanbul... all over your body."

"Have you been thinking of that night in the hotel?" Mary asked softly, "The night I tied you down, then let you make love to me as you liked?"

He stifled a chuckle. She was certainly blunt- hated dancing around a subject. "As I liked? You were quite in control, as I recall..."

"As usual," Mary laughed a little, then bowed her graceful neck to let the smile fade.

"You know, you're driving me wild with those lips."

She stared at him long and hard before opening her mouth. _I love you,_ she wanted to tell him, rather stupidly, but thankfully, those silly words found no way out of her sensible mouth. "You're acting very queer, John."

"You've got that effect on me, Mary," John chuckled, "You could turn a cold Englishman's stone heart to fire in seconds. In fact, you have."

"Have I?" she volleyed back, "Well then, I daresay, this mentioned cold Englishman can manage to keep himself at bay for just a while longer while all of this passes us. Or am I unreasonable in presuming so?"

"Not unreasonable," John murmured, "Just.... cruel."

"I'm nothing if not that, darling," the brunette smiled, catching herself at the term of endearment. John peeked over his shoulder, then turned back.

"Don't look now- that curious man with the curious moustache has been watching us... perhaps listening to us." Mary started, but John reached higher up her arm, soothing her wits. "Now, we've said nothing incriminating, have we?"

"I suppose not," Mary sighed, refraining from patting her stiffly coiffed hair. It was a nervous habit, one John had come to recognize whenever he saw it. He had his own, of course; fiddling with his pipe in his pocket. "Are all the others here?" Mary whispered. John took one casual look around, scratching his small moustache deftly, and hummed his affirmation.

"Most."

"But, then... I suppose you're not concerned with the others presently, are you Dr. Arbuthnot?" she asked, that twinkle returning to her eye. John cleared his throat, turning ahead once more to the great Orient Express.

"I suppose not, Miss Debenham," he responded, and a hand snaked its way down her arm, just out of view, imagining it to be her backside. Mary shuddered a little, basking in his smooth, delightfully calm and alluring voice. She thought of everything he did to her that night- everything he _would_ do to her with those large, gorgeous hands and how he would look, clothing discarded to reveal a remarkably fit body and that debonair smirk of his suited better to a particularly charming salesman than a doctor. But, despite her sexual inclinations and simmering arousal toward her companion, they had appearances they had to keep for the sake of their purpose on this journey; she turned to him.

"Not now," Mary breathed, almost absently, biting her lip, "Not now. When it's all over..."

Meters away, Hercule Poirot rocked back on his heels, pondering what this seemingly frosty young woman could possibly mean by this. He watched closely as the other man with the dark hair and dark skin glanced once more over his shoulder, rooted in position. 

Strangers waiting for a train, nothing more, Poirot told himself, though things were already beginning to strike him as particularly curious. Maybe it was the way those two strangers stared at each other- maybe it was the long journey he had already faced.

Assumptions aside, the Belgian detective would soon find out. He always did.    


End file.
